What else was a trapped man supposed to do? It’s not like he could open his laptop and write, could he? Could he? Yet a little voice said, You’re a selfish man, Ethan Montclair. Might as well take advantage.

How in the name of God it happened, he didn’t know, but when he opened the manuscript that had lain dormant for the past two months, the words just started to flow.

THE FIRST BREAK

The call came very late that evening, while Ethan Montclair sat in his lonely house, contemplating whether he should go searching for his wife or continue to allow the inertia and ennui to consume him. Get lost in a bottle, or possibly stumble across his dead wife’s body?

An easy, unsurprising decision. He’d poured a drink and continued to type.

Officer Holly Graham, though, had already gone to bed. When her cell phone rang, she fumbled with the phone—who wouldn’t, that late? When she finally got it to her ear, there was silence. She feared the caller had hung up. They hadn’t.

“Officer...Graham, is it?”

The voice was female, deeper than normal, but feminine. Graham glanced quickly at the caller ID—private. That could be anything from a blocked number to a pay phone.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“You need to look closer at Ethan Montclair.”

“Who is this?” Graham had asked again.

“A concerned friend. Sutton Montclair is my friend. I’m afraid, we’re afraid, Ethan’s hurt Sutton.”

The voice was clear and confident, though Officer Graham could hear a waver in the very last words, as if the caller were scared.

Graham did everything by the book.

“Ma’am, I’d appreciate it if we could make this official. Can you meet me at the station, give a statement?”

“No. I won’t help if you make this official.”

“How did you get this number?”

“Look closer at Ethan. He’s not what he seems. The baby... It’s not what it seems.”

“You’ll have to give me more to go on, ma’am. What am I supposed to be looking at?”

The voice, now a vicious hiss: “Everything.”

IN WHICH WE RECEIVE A CLUE

The intensity of the voice sent Holly’s heartbeat ticking up a notch. She called Sergeant Moreno directly, as he’d instructed.

“Sorry to call so late, sir. Can someone dump the LUDs on my cell phone? My personal phone, not my work phone. I just got an anonymous call about Ethan Montclair. Said to look closer at him, and at the baby’s death.”

“How’d they get your personal cell phone number?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, but we’ll worry about it later. I’ll have a trace run, see if we can nail it down.” He yawned. “Damn, it’s late. But I’m awake. Might as well take the time now to update me. Where are you on the case?”

“Everything Montclair told us is checking out. Sutton was committed to Vanderbilt on an emergency psychiatric hold six months ago. I called the doctor, but they won’t talk to me without a warrant in hand, so all we have is the court filing. It checks out, everything Ethan said shows up there—suicidal ideation, psychosis. He’s telling the truth about her breakdown.